Net strike
by Celarnor
Summary: Sam Fisher is called away for another mission, this time starting in Japan.


Chapter 1  
  
Sam Fisher was in his NINJA suit, completely outfitted for a mission. He had been pulled away from his house not three hours earlier to go on a mission he had not yen been told anything about. Coen was sitting nearby on the osprey, tapping away at the black laptop that was uplinked to a satellite.  
"I've got Lambert on the line. I don't know how long we can keep him, though; this electrical storm is giving us lots of static," she said over the loud noise of the plane's engines.  
"Great." Sam said in his husky voice, looking to the paper-sized monitor that was built into the wall console.  
"Fisher." He began. "A terrorist group has attacked the United States embassy in Hong Kong."  
"And how does this involve me?" he asked, thinking that this would be a job for the CIA.  
"They weren't just any people. We think that it was a well-guided terrorist cell."  
"How so?"  
"We had multiple shipments of high-grade plutonium that was arriving there to be traded to the Japanese, for...negotiations purposes."  
"Spooky."  
"Indeed. The attackers killed nearly everyone there to get this shipment. All in all, there's about 5 pounds of it—enough to build a bomb capable of taking out a few small states."  
"And what do you want me to do?"  
"The attack happened just hours ago, the terrorists are still there. Probably looking for anything else they could use." Lambert looked over to the side of the screen for a second.  
"You're nearing the drop zone. I'll talk to you when you hit the ground. Lambert out." He closed the channel. Fisher turned off the monitor, then looked over at Coen.  
"How are you putting me down this time?"  
"We're going to have you parachute down to the highest building that we can see, and you'll make your way to the ground from the top of the Sony building."  
"I can grab Sarah some video games."  
"Yep." She grinned, handing him a parachute. "We reach the drop point in about five minutes; you might want to check your equipment."  
"I always do." Sam slung his SC-20000 over his shoulder. The SC-20K was a remarkable weapon. It took 5.56 mm ammo, which was perhaps a bit small, but it did the job. It had a scope with nightvision/thermal capability, up to 6x zoom, and a 20mm auxiliary launcher. This launcher was perhaps the most useful thing about it, as it had a variety of useful gadgets that it could launch: ring-shaped metal rounds that knocked out opponents, high-voltage capacitors that electrocuted their victim to the point of knocking them out, two types of sticky cameras, and grenades could also be launched through it. One of the new things that he had been given for this mission was a device that activated upon impact, giving off electromagnetic distortion. That would disrupt radios and other forms of communication between people. That could be useful. Next, he pulled his goggles over his head. They had two lenses for standard vision, thermal, and night vision, and the third, placed around his forehead, was a monocular that also sported thermal and night version. He could just look through them normally, without either, but he usually flipped it up when not in use. It was an old habit of his that he had never managed to shed.  
He picked up the parachute, realizing that he would have to hold his SC-20K on the way down, because the gun would be in the way. So he held it in his right hand by the grip.  
"Jump in thirty!" Coen yelled from near the front of the plane.  
Sam walked over to the back of the plane, which had a door that was opening up for him. He could see down below, the city of Hong Kong. Whenever he had thought about the Japanese, he had always thought of little huts. Apparently, he was wrong. This looked a lot like New York City.  
"Now!" yelled Coen from up front. Fisher nodded and jumped out from the back of the plane. The air whipped by his face, and he could still feel it through the neoprene-like suit that covered his face, except for a small area around his eyes. He wasn't going to release his parachute until the last minute, as that would reduce his profile in the air, consequently making him harder to se He glided through the air towards his target, his arms and legs outstretched.  
When he was about fifty feet from the top of the building, he pulled the string on his back, letting the black parachute out of it's pack. It expanded quickly, and gave him the feeling of being pulled up, though he was really just slowing down a great deal. Thankfully, there was not a single guard on top of the roof to complicate things and set off an alarm. Still, one could come out at any time, so he would have to keep ready. He pulled the SC20K to his shoulder, pressing it's but tightly against it, and kept the scope trained at the door.  
He landed and knelt down, sweeping the darkness with his night vision goggles quickly.  
"Talk to me, Lambert." He said, unclipping the parachute and putting it into a dark corner.  
"Local intelligence tells us that one of the men there has a laptop—probably their leader. We don't quite know where it is. You'll have to find it and get everything that y ou can off of it. It is imperative that you are not seen; we are looking at zero fatalities, Fisher."  
"So you don't want me to kill him?" he asked sarcastically.  
"No, alive would be nice," Lambert answered in the same tone. "If they're smart, their patrols will cross every so often, so you will need to leave them all alive, and most of them conscious so they don't know you're there. More when you arrive at the embassy. Grim's sent a map to your OPSAT." He heard a beep come from the small screen on his forearm.  
"What about this place?"  
"We're pulling up the building security now. Grim?"  
"Minimal security on the upper levels. A little more in the research and development sector. About 15 guards altogether."  
"Where would I be without you?"  
"Probably dead."  
"Enough chatter. Sam, get moving."  
Fisher moved over to the door, turning the handle. The door, not surprisingly, was locked. Probably to prevent people from doing what he was doing. Reaching into one of the pockets on his right pant leg, he pulled out a set of universal lock picks, then pushed them into the cylinder that was the lock and moved one around, searching for and pressing up against the tumblers , the other held in place to stabilize it.  
Picking locks was like an art. It took great skill, and the proper tools, to do it efficiently. He, fortunately, had both. Soon enough, after much finessing, the lock clicked, all of the tumblers inside matched up. He turned to the cylinder, unlocking the door. The process had taken all of thirty seconds.  
The handle, this time, relented to his touch, allowing him passage through. 


End file.
